


Guided by the Hand

by Dlvvanzor, Living_In_a_Fantasy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Cuddling, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, PWP, Porn, Possessive Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-26
Updated: 2013-08-26
Packaged: 2017-12-24 16:43:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/942222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dlvvanzor/pseuds/Dlvvanzor, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Living_In_a_Fantasy/pseuds/Living_In_a_Fantasy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After deciding out of boredom that seducing his lover is the best use of his evening, John discovers that Sherlock is really, remarkably good at instructing him how to touch himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guided by the Hand

John wasn't sure what he felt like doing. He could update his blog, go for a pint, or have sex with Sherlock. At the moment, the options were about equal.

 Sherlock was doing an experiment, ignoring John.

 "Sherlock."

 "Mm?"

 "What should I do tonight?"

 Sherlock made a face and went back to his work.

 "Sherlooooooooock."

 Sherlock ignored him.

 "Should I update my blog, go out with Lestrade, or seduce you?"

 "Flattering," Sherlock grumbled, adjusting his microscope.

 "Not an answer."

 "Busy."

 John wandered over to Sherlock. "So, seduce you?"

 "So, figure out your problem on your own."

 "I think I've decided."

 "Captivating," he drawled.

 "I've decided on seducing you." John nodded.

 "You have?" he asked, brimming with obviously fake excitement.  "Oh, thank you, John!"

 "Welcome," he said, leaning on the counter and looking at Sherlock.

 Sherlock ignored him.

 "I think you should fuck me," he said, nodding.

 That... got his attention.  He glanced up at him.

 John nodded. "It seems like a good idea, I think."

 John was clearly in a strange mood.  Sort of predatory, half challenging and half hopeful.  How odd.  Or, rather, how interesting.  He sat up, eyes on him.  "What exactly did you have in mind?"

 "Something involving us taking off our clothes in the kitchen, then seeing if we can make it to bed before the actual sex happens."

 Sherlock leaned back in his chair, intrigued.  "Ok."

 "And I think you should come take off my clothes," John decided, nodding.

 "No."

 "No?" he asked. "Why not? I was on a roll with the agreeable thing."

 "No.  You take them off.  Right now."  He crossed his legs.

 John eyed him, then went to work on getting his shirt off.

 Sherlock waited, poised delicately on his chair.

 John dropped his trousers to the floor next, eyes not leaving him.

 He ran his eyes appreciatively over John's body, nodding his approval and for John to continue.

 John pulled his pants off, kicking the small pile of clothes away and standing naked in their kitchen.

 Sherlock was not a shy person.  He let his eyes linger on John's cock, and then he very pointedly licked his lips.  "Touch yourself," he said coolly.

 John eyed him for a moment. Then, he let his hand trail down his chest, then thigh, purposefully avoiding his cock.

 In defiance of this defiance, Sherlock said absolutely nothing.

 So, John continued to not touch his cock, eyes locked on Sherlock.

 As if he was just _now_ getting around to giving this order, Sherlock said, "Touch your testicles."

 John obeyed, letting his hand take its time getting there. It wasn't how he'd pictured the evening going but he certainly wasn't complaining.

 Sherlock watched, enjoying the view.  "Palm them."

 "You know, I did think the sex would be more mutual," John commented as he did so. He couldn't deny that there was something terribly arousing about having Sherlock just sit there and watch him.

 "I'm not terribly interested in what you think.  Squeeze just a little.  Not enough to hurt."

 John did, giving a low hum. "Really? Not at all?"

 "Not at all.  Fingertips on the underside of them."

 "Why not?" he asked, fingers following Sherlock's ordered path.

 Sherlock happened to know things about John's body that he knew John didn't even know.  Such as that he _really_ like when... "Light pressure of your nails, right there."

 John's hips jerked involuntarily, a soft groan slipping past his lips. "God..."

 "Up, not down."

 John sucked in a breath and did as he was told.

 "You didn't know that," he said, smug.  "Do it again."

 John leaned back against the counter and did. "I didn't," he agreed.

 "I did.  Your body is mine, I know everything about it.  Massage."

 John moaned as he did, though it was unclear if it was from the action or from Sherlock's words.

 "Release your testicles.  For now.  Hold your penis in one hand, and place the palm of your other hand against the head of it."

 John's breaths were noticeably heavier now. He gripped his cock in one hand, placing the other to Sherlock's specifications, and waited.

 "Massage the head with your palm, small circles.  Lick your palm if there's too much friction."

 John leaned back against the counter more heavily. How could Sherlock order him around without a trace of lust in his voice?

 Sherlock loved to see John touch himself, more than nearly anything else, and if John was closer he'd be able to see that Sherlock's irises were practically gone.  "With the hand that's around your cock: slow pump.  Again, lick your palm if you must."

 It was hard to move so slowly. Now all he wanted was for Sherlock to come to him, to have right against the counter.

 The smirk in Sherlock's eyes told John that he was very aware of this.  "Slower."

 "Sherlock," John moaned in complaint, forcing his hand to slow.  His elevated breathing was the only sound in the room. He wanted to vault across the kitchen and climb into Sherlock's lap, rutting against him until he came. Or drag Sherlock onto the table with him and have Sherlock's mouth more focused on a task other than talking.

 Sherlock leaned back in his seat, hard as a rock and memorizing every single moment of the show he was currently getting.  He gave no further instructions.  He would let John drive himself crazy first.

 John couldn't decide if he wanted to wipe that smirk off Sherlock's face by fucking him against the table, or if he wanted Sherlock to continue to take total control and have him against the wall. He just knew he wanted _something_.

 "See?" Sherlock asked, voice as impassive as he could make it but with an underlying heatedness he couldn't avoid.  "I can do this to you from across a room, John."

 "Would rather you do it from on top of me," he said, voice tight.

 "In that case," Sherlock said, trying to sound bored and failing, hands brushing over the top of his trousers, "I'm going to need you to prop yourself up a bit better."

 Thank God, Sherlock had indicated he was going to do something. "Where?"

 "Make it work.  Wherever you can press a finger into yourself."  He ghosted over his button for a while before undoing it.  "You will prepare yourself, I will watch, and then I'll fuck you."

 "Fuck." He breathed out shakily and shifted, bracing himself against the counter. He slid his fingers into his mouth hurriedly, and after shifting several times managed to press a finger in. It was a bit awkward, and certainly not as comfortable as when Sherlock did it, but John didn't care about that.

 Sherlock pulled his zipper down.  "As you do that," he said lazily, "and, do take your time.  But would you like something to watch, as well?"

 John lifted his head, eyes locked on Sherlock's movements. "Yes."

 He scooted his trousers and pants down enough that he could get his cock out.  He wrapped his fingers slowly around it, sighing in satisfaction as he did.  "Another finger."

 John was distracted and almost didn't hear him, so his response was delayed. He quickly pressed a second finger into himself, eyes on Sherlock's erection.

 It was an impressive one, because Sherlock was very, very, very turned on.  He gave a light pump, knowing that he couldn't do too much without risking an early completion.  "Finish up.  You know what to do."

 "I'm good," John said, unable to force his eyes from Sherlock's cock, or the way his hand slowly moved. "Please fuck me."

 Sherlock quickly released his cock at John's words, almost losing control.  "I'm.  When I'm good and ready," he managed, taking several deep breaths.

 "Now," John insisted, noticing the break in Sherlock's composure. "Now. Have me now. I need it."

 Sherlock was across the room before he even knew it, flipping John around and pressing him down over the counter before pushing up into him, not as gently as he would have liked but John didn't seem to mind.  When he bottomed out, he gasped, and put his head on John's back.  "What just happened?" he croaked.

 "Fuck, I don't know, but move, please move," he groaned from underneath him.

 He did, immediately.  It was logistically difficult but John was begging and it would take a natural disaster to stop Sherlock from figuring it out.  He thrust up hard into him, setting a fast rhythm almost immediately, teeth and tongue latched onto John's neck.

 "Oh God oh God oh _fuck_ , Sherlock." He didn't really have anything to grip onto. His face pressed sideways against the cool tile of the counter, a nice contrast to the heat that was everywhere else.

 Sherlock would testify in court that John could take him apart with less than ten words.  He groaned, hips jerking violently of their own accord.  " _John_ , God..."

 "Harder. Need you. Please."

 He did it harder, faster, hanging onto John to keep either of them from sliding around, giving everything he had.  "Yes, you're.  Anything.  So... so..."  He changed his angle, not sure if he'd found the exact right spot yet or not.

 John jerked, head slamming against the counter hard, but he barely even noticed. "Yes, there, there," he encouraged, hands scrambling to find something to hold onto.

 A wrecked moan ripped its way out of Sherlock and he tried to repeat the motion.  "T-there?"

 "Yes, ob-obviously."

 "Not.  Not really the- nng- the time for.  Sarcasm," Sherlock panted, reaching around John for his cock.  He fisted him hard right away, as it was clear that this was not going to be a lengthy encounter, touching him in the way he knew John liked, matching with his hard thrusts.

 Finally Sherlock was touching him. Just Sherlock's hand, perfect, perfect. John might have said some of these words out loud, but he wasn't aware of it.  He made a low sound that may or may not have been a whimper. "Close," he managed to tell the counter.

 Sherlock wanted to order him not to come until Sherlock gave him permission, but that would require saying words, which he didn't have the breath for.  Instead, he nodded against John's skin and tipped up his speed the final bit more, slamming in and out of him and rubbing his cock firmly, all together.

 John gave a loud shout, hips jerking as he came. He pressed his face against the counter, unable to suck in a breath as his orgasm ripped through him.  The cry and the clench of muscles had Sherlock right there with him, briefly losing track of which way was up and which was down.  Eventually John's lungs decided to work again, and he was able to breathe, and when Sherlock understood gravity, he pulled John away from the counter and gently down to the floor, together.

 John was still only partially aware of what was happening, but it was Sherlock that was moving him, so it was fine.  Sherlock shifted them until John was sitting in the vee of his legs, his back to Sherlock's chest.  He held him close, there.  John turned his head so his cheek was pressed to Sherlock's chest, eventually finding the strength to shift up a bit and bury it against his shoulder.

 "Wow," Sherlock breathed.

 John hummed.

 "You are _glorious_ ," he babbled.  "You.  When you.  With your fingers _in_ you."

 "You said," he breathed.

 "So beautiful... and your face and... words and..."

 "Were commanding," John mumbled.

 "That's good, right?  Said you liked.  That."

 "Do," he confirmed.

"Do," he echoed meaninglessly.

"You were all calm."

 "Only from far away."

 "Sitting dressed and I was fingering myself," he said, still awed by the whole thing.

 He groaned.  "So sexy, John."

 "You are."

 "Both of us.  Especially together."

 "Mhm," he agreed, nuzzling closer.

 "Did you know how much I like when you touch yourself?"

 "Didn't."

 "Do."

 "Like making you like," John said coherently.

 "Me too," Sherlock, who spoke Post-Coital-John, said sweetly.  He kissed his temple.

 John hummed and nuzzled closer.  "Should clean up."

 "Your semen is on the place where we occasionally cook," Sherlock agreed.

 "You put it there."

 Sherlock snorted out a laugh.

 "So you should clean it," John decided.

 "Okay.  Get off of me and I'll do that right away."

 John contemplated this.

 "This was better than updating your blog or going out for a pint, hopefully."

 "It was." John pulled back enough to kiss Sherlock. "Granted, didn't try the others so who knows."

 Sherlock huffed dramatically.   "Do you usually orgasm while you blog?  Or when drinking with Lestrade?" he asked innocently.

 John rolled his eyes. "Kidding." He kind of rolled away to give Sherlock space to get up. "Kay. Clean," he said, resting his head on his arms and watching Sherlock.

 "So, yes to the blog and Lestrade orgasms, then?" Sherlock  said sagely as he stood and looked for paper towel.

 "Don't know. Lestrade is handsome in his own way."

 "Seems a bit inappropriate to randomly orgasm in a pub.  But you do have that public kink."  He found a paper towel and dampened it, going to clean off where John had released.

 "We've not done that in a while," John said, taking the chance to observe Sherlock from the floor.

 Knowing he was being watched, Sherlock failed to correct his clothes which were still on but were quite askew.  "Come at a pub with Lestrade?"

 "Hm?" he asked, not really hearing him.

 "What we've not done in a while."

 "Right. Sure."

 "You look fucked out," Sherlock announced, throwing away the paper towel and calling it good.  He came back to look down at John.

 "Well, you did fuck me," John said, looking up at him.

 "Very true."  He kept looking down at him.

 "You're looking at me," John observed.

 "You're looking at me."

 "You looked first."

 "I always looked first."  He got down on the floor next to him.

 "The floor is hard," he complained.

 "Bed is soft."

 "Carry me," John decided.

 Sherlock got himself up into a squat and, with great effort, lifted John.

 "I didn't think you really would," John said, grinning.

 Sherlock grunted in pain, heaving a step closer to their room, which was quite close.

 "Should I be offended by the effort it's taking you?"

 "You're.  150.  Muscle.  And not helping."  The door was open, thank goodness.

 "You offered."

 He grunted once more, then dumped John on the bed moments before his arms gave out.  He sat down heavily next to him.  "I need to lift weights," he panted.

 John tugged at him. "Come here."

 He collapsed down next to him.  John pressed into Sherlock's side so Sherlock curled up there with him. In response, John shifted so that Sherlock's arm was around him.

Sherlock touched their noses together and closed his eyes.

 "Wait, don't sleep yet."

 He cracked one eye.

 John smiled at him.

 Sherlock smiled back.

 "Love you."

 "I love you too," he said, eyes soft.

 "And you're better than blog or Lestrade."

The smile widened and Sherlock tilted his head to kiss him.  The kiss was sweet and tender. John was still smiling when it ended. "And better than work. And reading. And other things I could do besides you."

 "You're my favorite."

 "Of what?"

 "Hm?"

 "Favorite of what?"

 "Anything."

 John nuzzled in. "Good answer."

 He nuzzled back.  "Can close my eyes now?"

 John huffed. "Guess so."

 "Thanks..."  The cracked eyes closed.

 John pressed in as close as he could and let his eyes fall closed too. "Next time I want you tired I'll ask you to fuck me again."

 "Mmm..."

 John was drifting again. "Maybe public."

 "You could ini.  Initiate public any time and I'd do."

 "Any time?"

 "Al'mos..."

 "When won't?"

 "Case."

 "Wh'not?"

 "Cuz penis and work."

 "Bet it still works."

 "Wh'a works?"

 "Penis."

 "Penis," he mumbled back, and fell asleep.

"Idiot," John complained, and followed quickly after.


End file.
